Page 26 of Strange Happenings at Longbourn (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #11)
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday dawned crisp and bright, with a pale autumn sun filtering through a veil of high clouds. After breakfast, the Bennet ladies joined the Netherfield party for the brief carriage ride into Meryton for church.
The building itself had stood for more than a century, its weathered stone walls streaked with the softened patina of time.
High-arched windows were filled with stained glass—muted now by age and centuries of candle smoke—but still catching glimmers of light in rich reds, greens, and golds.
The air inside was cool and faintly scented with beeswax and the faint mustiness of old hymnals.
Elizabeth followed Jane into the Bennets’ accustomed pew, conscious of the Netherfield party settling just behind them.
When the parson began his sermon, his voice was steady but unhurried—indeed, so unhurried that Elizabeth’s thoughts soon began to drift.
She found herself noting how the placement of one tall stained-glass window, directly behind the pulpit, made the preacher appear to have a faintly luminous halo about his head whenever the sun broke through the clouds.
It was an image at once solemn and absurd, and it took a great effort not to smile.
Her gaze wandered inevitably towards Mr. Darcy.
He was seated two places down from Miss Bingley, the afternoon light falling in softened hues across his dark hair and strong profile.
More than once, she found his gaze already upon her, and the brief meeting of their glances sent an unexpected warmth through her.
There was nothing improper in it, yet each glance seemed to hold more than mere politeness.
Miss Bingley, catching one such exchange, bestowed upon Elizabeth a look of thinly veiled sourness, but otherwise kept her attention fixed on her prayer book.
Elizabeth noted with quiet relief that over the past few days, Miss Bingley’s pursuit of Mr. Darcy’s attention had seemed less insistent—though whether from resignation or some other cause, she could not guess.
At last, the sermon drew to a close. The congregation rose, the rustle of skirts and boots on stone echoing beneath the high rafters.
The Bennets emerged from the church in a cluster, the brisk air brightening cheeks and setting feathers and ribbons fluttering.
Behind them trailed the Netherfield party, Miss Bingley gliding with deliberate grace while Mr. Hurst grumbled quietly about the length of the sermon.
Once outside in the churchyard, Mrs. Bennet engaged in animated conversation with Lady Lucas, her voice carrying clearly over the autumn breeze.
“…and I have every hope for dear Jane and Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet declared, smiling broadly. “They suit one another so very well. Such a match would be the pride of the neighbourhood.”
Elizabeth approached the path towards the carriages when Mr. Darcy came to her side. “Tell me, Miss Bennet,” he said, lowering his voice so that only she might hear, “what would your mother say if not one, but two of her daughters were to be courted by eligible men?”
She arched a brow. “Do you mean anyone in particular?”
His expression was steady, though there was the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. “I do.” He inclined his head towards a quieter stretch of the churchyard. “Would you take a turn with me for a moment?”
They walked together along the gravel path, the late-autumn wind stirring the fallen leaves at their feet. When they reached a place apart from the others, he stopped. “Miss Bennet,” he said, his voice warm but measured, “I wish to court you, with your consent.”
The words settled over her with the unexpected clarity of something long half-hoped-for but never presumed. “You have my consent,” she replied, her voice bright with pleasure.
They resumed their walk, the formality of the moment giving way to a more comfortable silence.
Elizabeth was keenly aware of the nearness of his presence, the easy strength in his stride beside hers.
Yet as they turned back towards the carriages, her thoughts strayed briefly to Longbourn—the missing items, the strange noises, the uneasy sense of being watched.
She realised, with no small measure of relief, how grateful she was for this time away from it all.
For now, the quiet of Netherfield—and the new understanding between herself and Mr. Darcy—felt like the safest and most welcome refuge in the world.
“I shall speak to your father soon,” Mr. Darcy promised as they neared the church once more.
Elizabeth had scarcely stepped onto the gravel path when Kitty and Lydia descended upon her like a whirlwind.
“Lizzy! You will never guess what has happened while you and Jane have been at Netherfield,” Lydia burst out, clutching her arm.
“Not in a hundred years!” Kitty added, bouncing on her toes. “It has been positively dreadful, and yet—oh—most diverting.”
Elizabeth smiled at their eager faces. “Then you had best tell me quickly before I expire from curiosity.”
“I shall begin,” Lydia declared grandly, only for Kitty to interrupt.
“No, I shall, for my tale is the most shocking. Cook was locked in the larder!”
Elizabeth blinked. “Locked… in the larder?”
“Yes!” Kitty insisted. “She went in for a joint of beef and could not get out for over an hour. We only found her because she began shouting so loudly that the milkmaid heard her from the dairy.”
Lydia laughed. “And when they let her out, she vowed she would haunt the place if it ever happened again. Though I daresay she has forgiven everyone now, as she made us seedcake the next day.”
Elizabeth shook her head in amused disbelief. “Was it an accident?”
“No one knows,” Kitty said with relish. “But that is not all— ”
“It most certainly is not,” Lydia cut in. “The very next morning, Tom the footman discovered his livery coat missing. And where do you think it was found?”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “I cannot imagine.”
“On the goat!” Lydia crowed. “That horrid old billy that belongs to Farmer Cooper. There it was, parading about the yard with the coat hanging from its shoulders as if it were a great gentleman!”
Jane, who had come up beside them, covered her smile with a gloved hand. “Poor Tom. I imagine the coat was beyond rescue.”
“Oh, it smelled abominably,” Kitty confirmed. “And there was a hole chewed in one sleeve.”
Elizabeth was beginning to laugh when Lydia tugged at her arm again. “And then—more things disappeared. Mama’s coral hair comb, Mary’s best gloves, a silver spoon from the sideboard—”
“And Papa’s snuffbox!” Kitty added.
Elizabeth frowned slightly. “That is indeed odd. And no one knows where they have gone?”
“No,” Lydia said, eyes wide. “And that is not even the strangest part. There have been noises—”
“—in the attic,” Kitty put in eagerly. “Scratching and footsteps, even though the maids swear no one is up there.”
Lydia leaned closer, lowering her voice as though imparting a great secret. “And lights—floating lights—seen in the garden after dark.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Floating lights?”
“Yes!” Lydia nodded vigorously. “Twice I saw them myself from my window. They moved about as if someone were carrying a lantern, but when Papa went out to look, there was no one.”
“Which proves nothing except that your imaginations are too lively for your own good,” came Mr. Bennet’s dry voice as he joined them. He looked over his daughters with mock sternness. “I am half tempted to ban novels from the house if this is the result.”
“Now, Mr. Bennet!” Mrs. Bennet, hurrying up behind him, fixed him with an indignant look. “You were not so sanguine about it when your best decanter went missing!”
Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched. “True, my dear, but I have since recovered my equilibrium—if not the decanter.”
Elizabeth could not help but laugh, though the catalogue of oddities stirred a ripple of unease deep inside her. She glanced instinctively towards Mr. Darcy, who was speaking with Mr. Bingley a short distance away, and wondered—without quite meaning to—what he would make of such tales.
The parties began to disperse from the churchyard, bonnets bobbing as farewells were exchanged. Mr. Bingley’s carriage was brought round, the glossy horses stamping in the cold air, and soon the Netherfield party—together with Jane and Elizabeth—were settled inside.
Kitty and Lydia, still brimming with energy, had protested being sent home with their parents in the Bennet carriage. Elizabeth felt an odd mixture of relief and lingering curiosity; their chatter had been chaotic, yet the details gnawed at her.
Miss Bingley, seated opposite Elizabeth, broke the comfortable quiet. “Are the Bennet ladies always so…lively?” she asked, with an arch lift of her brow. “And imaginative?”
Elizabeth met her gaze evenly. “They can be lively, certainly. But in this case, I fear they are not playing pretend. The incidents they described—missing belongings, locked doors, strange noises—are quite real, though the causes remain unknown.”
Miss Bingley’s eyes widened in delicate horror. She turned at once to her brother. “Charles, are you quite certain it is safe for you to remain in Hertfordshire with such danger lurking about?”
Mr. Bingley laughed outright. “Nonsense, Caroline. I have never heard of anything more harmless. Mischief and imagination—that is all.”
“Harmless?” Miss Bingley echoed, pressing a gloved hand to her breast. “A locked larder, stolen garments, lights in the garden—”
“Harmless,” Mr. Bingley repeated cheerfully. “And if there were any real danger, I am sure the Bennets’ household would soon have it well in hand.”
Jane’s eyes met his, warm with a quiet understanding, and she smiled—a soft, private smile that seemed to brighten her whole countenance.
Elizabeth, catching the look, felt her own lips curve in response.
Her sister’s happiness was so apparent that it softened even the dullest moments of these social calls.